


Tormented Devils

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Gore, M/M, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:06:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes to apologize to Crowley for everything that’s happened since the demon wore off and finds his king in worse disarray than he’d imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tormented Devils

The vase flew past his head and Dean jumped out of the way, hands out.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN DOING HERE?!”

Crowley was drunk. Crowley was very, very drunk and Dean had very obviously  decided to try and patch things up at the literal worst time.

The whole place was an absolute wreck, about as trashed as it was when his blood addiction was at its worst. The difference this time was the mess was made out of anger, not carelessness. Things were broken and shattered in anger, holes in the wall, ripped linens, busted furniture from where he’d tossed them and Dean was worried he would be the next thing thrown against the wall in the demon king’s rage.

“Whoa, hey, I just wanna talk!” He exclaimed, holding his hands up in peace and surrender. Crowley glared at him, his chest heaving, his face so red. But, God, his eyes were filled with so much pain. Such horrible agony in them, and it wasn’t just because Dean was there.

A new heavy crystal bottle in his hand, Crowley sloshed more scotch into a tumbler and drained it quickly. “Talk?” He chuckled. “Oh, now you want to talk? Sure you don’t want to shove me down and tell me off in front of my subordinates again? Or ignore me for a few more months? Hm? That seems to be the route you’re more interested in, Dean Winchester. Not talking to me.”

He turned to face him, a smile blooming on his face, a knowing one that was bred from pain. “Ah, I see. I see, are you here to kill me? Shoot me, then? Pretend you want to patch up the nice little domestic thing we had with little brother in the offing waiting to blow me away? Hm?! Well, it’s not going to work, I’m fucking smarter than that!”

He tried to make a pointed turn away from him but he nearly fell over. Dean shook his head, hard. “No. No, Crowley, that’s not what’s goin’ on. I don’t wanna kill you, I don’t wanna put my hands on you like that, and I...I don’t wanna stay away anymore.”

“Why not? Worked splendidly before, didn’t it?” He challenged, eyes hard, words daggers intent on hurting. “You make a pretty decent coward, Dean, I’ve taught you well.” He poured another glass.

“You think you’ve had enough of that?” Dean asked, gesturing weakly to the bottle. Crowley glared at him.

“Don’t think you can tell me what to do. I was the nagging wife in this relationship anyway, and you know-you know I’m not going to be bossed around by someone whose entire wardrobe is a cotton-polyester blend so get fucked!” He waved his hand and the door burst open. Dean didn’t move. “Get out!”

“No!” Dean took a step toward him, staring at him. “What’s wrong with you, huh? What’s the matter, why you drinkin’ like that?”

“My good looks are such a burden I need a break now and then,” he simpered. Dean rolled his eyes.

Crowley’s shoulders were tensed, like relaxing them would hurt. His eyes were almost unfocused and far away, dancing back and forth between memory and Dean being here in front of him. He watched the King seat himself in a lavish leather chair, a throne away from throne, stiffly and unevenly. He was trying to look laid back and serene when he was anything but.

The room itself was a testament to the torment lying under the layers of tailored Armani and silk. From outside of it, it looked just fine, but inside was a terrible mess and Crowley was doing his best to pretend it wasn’t even there.

Dean stepped closer still, and Crowley’s tension grew. “I told you what’s wrong, now fuck off!” He spat. Dean shook his head again.

“No. No, not this time. I’m not gonna walk away from you again.” Once he was closer, Dean could see him a little better, see the sparkling green and brown in his eyes, and how bloodshot they were, the rawness of the outside, his dark circles. He’d been crying.

Crowley pressed himself back in the chair as far as he would go, Dean being just in front of him now. “What?” He demanded. “What’ll you do if I don’t talk to you? Get those fancy handcuffs and lock me up some more? Keep me like a pet to take out and play whenever you want?”

“That’s not what that was, and you know it,” Dean grunted, staring at him. His hands were clenched, jaw flexing repeatedly. “Can I just- Tell you what I wanna tell you?” He said stiffly, not looking at him.

Crowley waved his hand in some sort of approval. Dean swallowed.

“What I said to you before, it wasn’t true. I was scared and drunk on...on whatever the hell I was at that moment and I shouldn’t have done or said any of it. The time I spent with you, the solid, just us time this past summer was...was some of the greatest of my life. I’ve never felt more like myself, I’ve never felt more accepted and wanted...And I’ve never seen you smile so much.” Crowley scoffed and looked away.

“But that’s not the important part,” Dean assured. “Demon Me did, well, what a fuckin’ demon with this mark would do, it’s just how it is but… But I didn’t fix it after.” Crowley peered at him, slightly more interested. “I didn’t call you and tell you I was sorry. I didn’t say that, that I missed your voice, I just listened to a saved message on my phone like some morbid ex that can’t get over themselves. I didn’t grow the fuck up and take responsibility for what I did, or fight to keep you with me. I should’ve.

“You-you’re a pain in the ass, I gotta tell ya, but you’re...You’re kinda the best thing to happen to me, Crowley. And I fucked up,” his voice broke a little. “I fucked up and now you, you’ve been here all alone and taking your shit out on antiques instead of being able to talk to someone that supports you and that’s not fair.

“None of this was fair for me to do and I know I waited too long to come talk to you.” Crowley was looking at him head on now. “And I keep-” He laughed a little, running his hand over his face to keep himself together. “I keep wondering how your day is. What’s goin’ on, if you ever killed that assistant that always messes up your coffee like you said or what-what tie you were wearin’ or if you’d found someone else, if you even missed me at all-”

“I did,” Crowley whispered. Dean stared at him. “I...I missed you.” He swallowed. “You, uh, kept all this…” He gestured to the room. “Away. Or made it manageable. And then, you fucked up.” His eyes darkened a little. “So FUCK OFF!” He tried to stand quickly and throw him out, but he cried out in pain mid-roar and collapsed back down into the chair.

“Whoa, Crowley, hey!” Dean knelt in front of him, right in front of this stand-in throne, and searched his face, tried to meet his eyes or at least find the source. He held his shoulders gently, and slowly, Crowley grabbed onto his. “What’s wrong, huh?” Dean asked gently. “What hurts?”

“Just go, it doesn’t m-matter,” he slurred. Dean could smell his cologne this close, mingled with sulfur and alcohol and his skin and he felt more at home than he had in months. “I said go!” That wasn’t an order, that was a plea.

“Not a chance. What’s wrong? Who hurt you, did you hurt you?” He asked, afraid of that answer. He moved his hands further down his arms and realized. They were wet.

He looked at them, at the pink over his palms. Blood. “Crowley, you’re bleeding! Lemme-”

~*~

Screams echoed through the unholy church, every part of it black and dripping with the evil that had been performed there. Candles everywhere, wax everywhere, blood stained so deeply into the walls it appeared they’d been painted with it.

The altar the Demon King was strapped tied down to was filthy, coated in centuries of flesh, marrow, blood and whatever squished bile that hadn’t been cleaned off. His chest throbbed where he’d already been branded and now he was chained to this thing, wrists straining as he fought against them.

This wasn’t what she said she wanted, she didn’t say this is what it was going to be. A blood sacrifice from your first born for a power a boost was not in the agenda.

She chanted and carved, sang Brahm’s lullaby in between the parts of the spell. He cried so hard, the energy she took from him draining his strength.

He’d trusted her.

He’d let himself be vulnerable to her.

This was his fault.

This ache in his heart, this twist and vice that made his stomach roll was his doing. He loathed his own pathetic screams and cries, the desperate way he still leaned into her hand when she touched his hair, god he hated himself so much for every fucking second of this.

He screamed again, arching back and trembling.

“Mother, please!” He sobbed, tearing at the cuffs. “PLEASE!”

~*~

Crowley jerked away from him with a grunt, keeping his eyes pointedly on the floor. “Leave me alone.”

“Cause that’s been workin’ out great so far,” he snorted, gesturing to the room around them. Crowley glared at him. Dean softened.

“Please, let me help,” he whispered. “You don’t gotta forgive me or anything but at least let me help.”

Reluctantly, Crowley shrugged out of his suit jacket, the blood much more obvious now that Dean could see his shoulders and where they were wet with it.

Dean gently slid the tie from his neck, a small, intimate gesture that had become habit since they started seeing each other. Crowley paused, staring down at him, watching his rough fingers make delicate movements he remembered thinking Dean wasn’t capable of.

Those same fingers worked open the silver buttons on his shirt, one by one until Crowley took it off as well, definitely not looking at him now.

They were sigils, Dean realized. And they weren’t just on his shoulders, they stretched all the way down his back and there was a big brand in the middle of his chest.

The carvings were deep, showing muscle and bone in certain places, his flesh covered in what no doubt must have been some ritual Crowley had participated in.

However, the welts on his wrists from being tied down told Dean it wasn’t a voluntary thing. He scowled, his bright eyes filled with anger so hot it rivaled Hellfire. He tensed, his jaw tightening.

“What happened?” He forced, his voice rough and strained. “Who touched you, who the fuck did this?!” He was sneering, his cheek twitching in rage and though it wasn’t the right moment Crowley was touched by the expression. That face was usually reserved for Sam and protecting Sam, but not right now. He shook his head to do away with his smugness and to answer Dean, who scowled harder.

“Crowley, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, I can’t make someone pay for touching you if I don’t know who they are, tell-”

“You can’t kill her.” Not a bark, not a scoff, no cynicism in his tone, just Crowley pleading in a soft little rumble. “I can’t let you do that, Dean.”

“Why?!” He exclaimed, looking at the horrible marks on Crowley’s skin. They were in a damned language he’d been able to read as a demon but the meanings were lost to him now. Not that it mattered, he knew it was fucking horrible at least.

Crowley’s lips shook, taking all the rage from Dean in a second. “B-because she’s my mother.”

Dean stared at him, eyes wide, shaking his head a little. “You’re…? I don’t understand, I thought-”

“She went to Hell, she became a demon and now she’s out and…” He shifted a little, curling into himself.

Still on his knees, Dean turned his chin, looking at him steadily. “It’s okay,” he whispered. Crowley shook his head.

“No. No, I’m…I’m a bloody fool. I’m weak and I should have known she’d do this. She didn’t mean anything she said! She doesn’t want me, she never wanted me! She wanted me to die in a ditch covered in my own sick, and I did! She wanted me to fall for all the shit she was feeding me about family and love so I’d do what she asked and I did!” He stared at Dean, voice breaking just a little. “I don’t want a family anymore, Dean. I don’t.”

Dean sat up a little, taking his face between his hands. “Crowley, this ain’t what a family is. Families don’t do shit like this to each other, not good ones! You think Bobby ever told Sam or me if we couldn’t do somethin’ we were worthless and he wouldn’t love us anymore? Hell no, but you can be damn sure my Dad did. And if, if your mom did this to you, then she ain’t your family either.”

“I don’t need one,” Crowley hissed, trying to convince himself, not Dean. “I don’t need anyone, I’m the king of fucking Hell, I don’t need anyone to care for me!”

He broke down, covering his face and bending over to hide a little more, the injuries on his back that much worse for it. His wounded shoulders trembled and Dean’s chest ached.

The hunter swallowed and lifted Crowley’s face, eyes pained, voice soft and kind. “But you deserve it. You deserve to be loved, Crowley.” The demon king was shaking, looking at him with such disbelief.

“You don’t mean that-”

“I do,” Dean pressed, taking one of his hands. “I mean...I love you, so there’s your proof right there.”

“You don’t. You don’t love me, don’t say that, don’t- Don’t hurt me like that, I know you don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me!” He accused. God, he was so broken and it tore Dean’s heart just to hear his wavering tone and know he truly didn’t believe it.

“I love you,” he repeated, holding Crowley’s face and kissing him very gently. “And I’m so sorry I left you.”

Crowley gripped his shoulders in tight hands, shaking all over, trying to find the lie in the elder Winchester’s face.

He crumpled against him, clinging to him and ignoring the pain he felt when he did. He cried into his shoulder, arms wrapped around him tight as they could go. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, if this is a lie, if you’re lying just to get something from me, tell me now. I don’t want to pretend, Dean, I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

Tears burning in his eyes Dean hugged him closer, holding the back of his head and looking down at the carnage on Crowley’s body. “I’m not lyin’,” he promised. “I’m not. I love you. I’m not enough, I’m not what you deserve, but I do love you.”

“Oh, shut up, you needy shit,” Crowley teased, not letting him go.

They cried together for awhile, Dean’s tears silent while Crowley’s body shook with the pain that radiated from the inside out.

When he’d calmed down enough, Dean started to patch him up.

Callused fingers were soft and caring on Crowley’s skin, bandages placed over each mark with tenderness and caution. Crowley muttered several times that they’d go away soon enough, all of his injuries, and they didn’t even hurt that much. Dean knew what hidden pain looked like and knew he was full of shit but he didn’t say anything about that.

They were lying down soon enough, Dean cradling him against his chest and holding him through the night, whispering apologies and praises over and over again. He didn’t stop all night, and Crowley didn’t tell him to.

Just as the sun was peeking through the windows, the demon pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“I love you too.”

 


End file.
